


Sharing Is Caring

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sharing, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something snaps – literally, the delicate handle of his coffee cup snaps right off – when Michael slams it to the table. “Take it the fuck off!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing Is Caring

“Michael!”

His name echoes from the high ceilings of his flat and he sets down his bagel with a heavy sigh. Michael refuses to answer because he doesn’t want to hear the question. A few seconds later he hears his brother’s heavy step trudge across the living room. The smell of coffee brewing floods the morning soaked apartment and Michael sits in the bright kitchen drinking his second cup, yet Lincoln fails to come into the room and shouts his name again.

Michael grudgingly says something this time only because Lincoln won’t shut up otherwise.

As he expects, there’s a shuffle like Lincoln was across the room speaking to his bedroom door and had to turn around, then his big brother shows himself in the kitchen doorway. Michael’s mouth goes dry.

“What are you doing?”

Lincoln rolls his eyes as if it’s obvious. “Trying to knot this tie. Can you help me?”

“That’s my tie.” Michael says slowly. “Those are my clothes.” He adds only because saying it means that he has to believe the sight of Lincoln just barely fitting into his specially tailored charcoal gray suit with (his favorite) pinstriped shirt. Nope, Michael thinks, this is still unbelievable.

“I’m just borrowing them,” Lincoln snaps. “You know I don’t have anything like this and I need this job.”

Michael can feel his lips curling in bitterness. Feel the all too familiar wave of injustice that he’s barely kept at bay these past few weeks that Lincoln’s been living in his loft. _His_ space. _His_ life. **His** , Michael glares at the perfect cut of his trousers across his big brother’s hips, _clothing_.

Michael’s hand barely shakes as he takes a soothing sip of coffee and grumbles, “Take it off.”

Lincoln chuckles, still fiddling with the soft silk tie. “Not the time to act like a spoiled bitch, Mikey.”

Something snaps – literally, the delicate handle of his coffee cup snaps right off – when Michael slams it to the table. “Take it the fuck off!”

Lincoln stares incredulously. “You’ve lost it.”

“Probably,” Michael shrugs. _With you living in my pocket,_ he thinks. It’s been three weeks into this living arrangement and Michael’s been reminded every day of how little he’s actually lived with his brother. Lincoln was barely a teenager the last time they shared a foster home. Visits and very rare sleepovers once Michael came of age couldn’t have revealed what life would be like with Lincoln on a day-to-day basis. Nothing could have illuminated how different they were from each other like the constant squabbling and nagging that’s comprised this hectic time. It was almost like living with a stranger.

Michael chokes back his anger to continue quietly. “I mean it though. Take it off right here, right now.”

Lincoln’s dark eyes narrow dangerously. “Fuck you.”

Michael takes a breath and lets what’s on the tip of his tongue, what’s really bothering him, slip right out. “Might earn you the right to wear my clothing.”

“What?” His brother asks as if he didn’t hear him.

Emboldened by the fact that he’s not (yet) unconscious on the floor, Michael crosses his legs under the table and makes his wishes clear. He tries to look collected when it seems like he’s been anything but for days now. The last thing he expected was this spontaneity but he refuses to back away from it when the hair on the back of his neck is standing on end and it feels like all of the blood in his body is flooding south.

“Clothes off. All of them. Now.”

The loft falls into utter silence while they face off. Michael’s holding his breath, reading the war of indecision on his brother’s face. He can admit that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, if he’s just going to drive the older man away permanently, but he’s determined to ride this unexpected turn of events to its ending.

Lincoln’s body is coiled tight for fighting but after what feels like a lifetime the older man’s stubby fingers go to the flat buttons of his shirt.

Michael should feel surprised but he releases a gust of relief to have Lincoln acknowledge that amongst the fighting there have been moments of something very, very different.

Times where they would be able to sit on the couch to share a beer and have Michael doze off to wake with his head on his big brother’s shoulder and Lincoln’s arm wrapped around him. Times where their arguing would slough into charged stillness and Lincoln (if he’d been the one screaming) would look at him wide eyed, flustered with surprise, and slowly lick his lips or try to subtly adjust the lay of his jeans before stomping away.

Michael can honestly say that he never thought of his brother the same way until he figured out what the awkwardness was between them. Granted the living arrangements were frustrating, but there had to be more to the restless anxiety he felt around Lincoln, the way they tiptoed around each other yet crowded in unguarded moments. And of course, once Michael began to examine the taboo idea, he couldn’t stop thinking about it which drove his anxiety to new levels.

Faced with Lincoln in his clothes Michael can’t deny the visceral reaction that has cracked the dam of his unsated energy and pushed him right over the edge.

“If I’m going to do this,” Lincoln growls, pulling Michael out of his thoughts, “you’d better be watching.”

Michael swallows a lump of nervous anticipation. “All right.”

The last button of the shirt is undone and Lincoln bares his golden skin like they did this all the time. “I’d wondered, you know,” he says conversationally. “But I never thought that you would-,”

“I know,” Michael interrupts. Now that he’s seeing skin, he doesn’t want to think about what this means anymore – he just wants.

The sunrise seems to love Lincoln’s body, lighting him up like some marble statue come to life. Michael’s eyes eat up the flex of the older man’s broad shoulders and his muscled chest. More than that, he notices the ease in which his brother bares himself, the calm movements that seem practiced, as if it were something he was expecting.

Michael puts that thought away for later because Lincoln’s pulling down his pants.

His brother’s cock is a dark outline within the stark white of his boxers. Michael glances away at first then mentally slaps himself and looks his fill. This was his idea.

Lincoln’s narrow hips are sculpted perfection, bone jutting in sharp angles that Michael’s mouth waters to lick. His brother’s fingertips tuck into the waistband of his last item of clothing then pause.

Lincoln glares. “If you think that I’m going to do this with you just sitting there and drooling you really must think I’m stupid.”

Michael licks his lips and thinks that his brother is definitely going to miss his interview. It’s unfortunate but at least they’ll be getting along better and Lincoln can borrow his clothes as much as he wants.

He stands and brushes past his half-naked brother on the way out of the kitchen. Then turns so that Lincoln can watch as he starts to unbutton his work shirt. Lincoln’s body flushes from the neck down.

“Are you coming?”

 

END


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